


Hallows' Even

by gootarts



Category: Umineko no Naku Koro ni | When the Seagulls Cry
Genre: Gen, Secret Santa, Set during Episode 8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 14:32:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17143526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gootarts/pseuds/gootarts
Summary: According to Western folklore, Halloween was the time where the dead rejoined the living. So, perhaps, it made sense that the child Natsuhi shunned would return to her while celebrating it.





	Hallows' Even

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PastelGrotesque](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PastelGrotesque/gifts).



> Written for @The_Mr_Dent for an Umineko-themed secret santa on twitter! Hope you enjoy it!

The realm Beatrice has arranged within the Golden Land is a certain type of precise and methodical, even in its chaos. Even dealing with wayward stakes whizzing through the air so close they ruffle Natsuhi’s hair from the air coasting through their wake has become no less than routine. It’s a strange, almost organized form of pandemonium that she’s slowly grown used to. 

The original, nonmagical Rokkenjima was chaotic, yes, but it was a form of disorder she had control over, as the boss of the servants. Perhaps, in that way, that was what was strange. In this realm, Beatrice and Battler were the absolute rulers, not her. In a way, that in itself was...calming. The multitude of demons and witches, with their otherworldly powers, were able to grant her reprieve from her headaches. The territory lords would deal with the servants, the housekeeping, everything. No longer could Eva, with her sharp voice and even sharper tongue, verbally flay her for minor mishaps or not properly dusting some godforsaken place that hadn’t been touched by human hands in decades. 

On the other hand, it meant that she was not the master of the place. She was just a member of the family. It was a strange tradeoff, but-it allowed her free time. She was no longer constantly fretting over Krauss’ shady business deals, or Jessica’s grades. None of the realm’s lords seemed to care about if her clothing was emblazoned with the eagle or not. She could just...relax, for the first time in what seemed like decades. 

Despite being the same place, it was almost the polar opposite of Rokkenjima, but that was almost fitting. The world of witches was a world of opposites. Magic and mystery. Death and life. Sin and penance.

 

* * *

  
  


_ Not remembering a sin is a sin itself, but as long as you carry that cross...I guess I’ll say that I bullied you ‘til I got tired of it. _

The loudest sound when they enter the dining hall during the eighth and final game is the blood pounding in her ears, her heart still riding that adrenaline high from hide-and-seek. Which is telling; aside from herself and Beatrice, the dining hall appears empty, which means one thing, and one thing only. 

“It seems we both ended up in last place,” she sighs, glancing over at the dishes lined up on the tabletop, the metal plating covering them still shiny and untouched. A nagging voice in the back of her mind, tone perfectly matching Eva’s, points out that the main courses should have been served before the entrees and dessert, and certainly before breaking to play hide-and-seek.

_ This is Battler’s game _ , she reminds herself.  _ He prepared it all himself. His break from decorum doesn’t affect you.  _ And neither should the behavior of his wife, tossing convention aside to crack open the platter of cranberry-stuffed turkey, piling her plate high with food before anybody else had a chance to even sample it. Normally, she lets Beatrice’s behavior, general lack of manners, and crassness slide, but eating before everybody else-that deserves at least  _ some _ comment. 

“D-don’t you think that this behavior is...unbefitting?” She asks politely, giving a small gesture to the food, and then to the witch.

“Hmm. What do you mean?” Her voice is cheerful, and almost confused, which-it shouldn’t be, Beatrice certainly has those decade-long memories of proper serving decorum wrapped up inside her. Natsuhi coughs into her hand before making a wider sweeping motion at the food.

“I mean-eating before everybody else! Pouring yourself a glass of wine like this!”  _ Painting over somebody’s door with fake blood _ , she adds internally. But the witch says nothing for a moment before her entire body twists, contorts into...a cheerful smile, tinged with an almost teasing tone. 

“If I start eating now, it’ll mean nobody has to awkwardly wait around as the food chills. If nobody eats and more people pile it, we’ll all awkwardly have to wait around the table like starving hounds, begging for everybody to return so we can feast. Surely a bit of impoliteness is worth thaaat? I’m more than happy to play the role of villain for this type of thing, after all.” Almost to dig her point in further, she gouges a fork into her meat, twirling it around before swallowing it whole like a snake, speaking around the wad of bird in her maw. “Besides I’ve played hide-and-seek many times before with the others in Mariage Sorcerie. If Maria doesn’t want to be found, you’ll be up looking all night.”

Slowly, reluctantly, she has to at least concede the fight as Rudolf and Kyrie step into the room and start serving themselves. As they do, the witch grumbles a little as she sips her wine, muttering something or other about a time a couple months or so ago where she’d looked for over an hour for Maria, only to find the child hiding in one of the laundry bins, piles of dirty clothes draped over her. Beatrice had found it hilarious; Kanon was less than amused. 

“I just hope Jessica goes easy on them,” she sighs. She vaguely remembers when both her and Shannon were younger; the two would play games almost incessantly when she was off-duty.

It had stopped when one of them had managed to find a spot so outlandishly secluded and impossible to find that dinner had to be delayed in order to search the mansion. The exact details are hazy in her brain, but the two of them had moved on to more appropriate activities after that...at least, they had until she’d caught Jessica sneaking her husband’s old boxing equipment out of storage using Shannon’s master key. 

“Mmm, hopefully. I saw her run off with George, so they’re probably hiding togeth-” Beatrice’s words stop abruptly as her eyes fixate, almost like a cat’s, on the tablecloth next to her. In less than a second, her posture is adjusted to almost bow at the waist, her platter silently placed on a nearby tabletop. Watching this woman, absolute overlord of the realm, attempt to sneak with a massive, billowing dress, almost makes her snicker and betray the motion of silence the witch had given a moment before. Barely a blink later, she hears an excited “ _ found you~” _ accompanying the sound of rustling fabric. Natsuhi glimpses short scarlet hair alongside the white coat of somebody who had just pulled the oldest hide-and-seek trick in the book. 

“AAAAAAAaaaah, Beato, I….wasn’t expecting you!” Battler yelps, his voice quickly recovering from what was very definitely a half-scream as Hideyoshi and a couple of the servants start trailing in, his eyes darting around the room to make sure Ange and Eva weren’t nearby to hear it as he crawls out from under the table. 

She leaves the two of them to their business as Krauss comes walking in, his posture dejected, alongside the head and the rest of the servants. She does a quick mental headcount, notes that Maria and Rosa snuck in while she wasn’t looking, and gives a hushed reminder to her husband that he should stand up straight. And then a second later, a second whispered message.  _What's wrong, dear?_

He gives her a guilty look, coughs loudly into his fist, and awkwardly begins with a "You see, the Head had wanted us to hide in the study, in order to show us his collection of firearms-"

She sighs and rubs her temples at the mention of hiding in the single room in the house with an autolock.

 

Leave it to Kinzo to cheat at a children’s game, she supposes.  
  
  


* * *

  
  


When Beatrice covers  _ the entire dining hall _ in pantsless demon furniture, she sighs again, louder this time, even though she knows nobody will hear her. At least the normal human servant uniforms she was used to looked like reasonably normal clothing, unlike...whatever uniform Beatrice had decided to cook up. 

Even so, what truly catches her eye is neither demon nor furniture. She’d only heard about the voyager witches secondhand. Battler had talked about them a couple times at dinner, but they’d never actually bothered to show themselves to her. Or anybody else, for that matter. They were almost in a higher plane of existence, spirits that would only show their faces to those intimately involved in the game. Even when the voyager was acting as Game Master, she’d only gotten a script to follow, nothing more. 

Given that, it is needless to say that Lady Lambdadelta’s sudden appearance is…..offputting. This girl, this child who supposedly has the power to singlehandedly decimate everything on this island, has the power of universes and galaxies within her grasp. And yet, she chose to dress and act like...that. There was no elegance or grace, just a casual crassness as she’d unceremoniously showed up and started digging into the mousse. 

The two humans she brought with her carry themselves in a far more dignified manner; the taller redhead with a bit more of a casual aura than the shorter blonde, who bows just a little to the party hosts. As she gets a closer look, the stranger almost seems...familiar. There’s a one-winged eagle emblazoned upon both leg and collar, and an almost regal posture about them. She sighs. It wouldn’t be uncharacteristic of Beatrice to give some random servant permission to wear the eagle, as much as it pains her heart to admit it. But even so, her eyes meet the blonde’s, and she sees some sort of familiarity reflected in them. 

“...Mother?” The words are soft, almost hesitant. And yet she feels them pierce her body like a bullet as her mind instantly races to connect the dots. Jessica’s age, perhaps a little older? Check. Ushiromiya eagle? Check. Gender? ……..She’s not entirely sure, but check. 

The older, taller man just sighs, closing his eyes as he clamps a hand down on their-no. She knows his name, knows deep in her heart that he’s called Lion before the name even escapes anybody’s lips. 

“She’s not the same mother you know, Lion.” The man’s words have a soft, shiny veneer of calm to them, but she’s dealt with another family politics to hear the subtle barb underneath them. That  _ this is the version of your mother who threw you off a cliff. This is the mother that wanted you dead. _

It hurts. Even after those few moments with Beatrice earlier as she gained...some form of forgiveness, those words, that look, they still burrow beneath her skin like fishhooks. 

“...Ah. My apologies.” There’s a pause as he processes the words, slowly glancing at her, taking her in. Trying to discern the difference between his mother and the killer in front of him. She doesn’t react, can’t find any words to tell him that would change his mind. How could she? Even if it was decades ago, the sin of murder, the shocked expression on the woman’s face, the feeling of that body weight shifting as the fencing giving out behind her, it had never faded with age. She barely remembers Jessica’s wobbly first steps, but she’ll never forget the cold, precise feeling of taking that woman’s life.

Perhaps, in that way, Lion is right to give her only a pitying glance before turning away towards the rest of his family. But even so, even if it’s karmic justice, she still...she still wants to speak. So as Lion turns around, he hears a half-strangled sentence, barely audible about the clamor of the demons.

“...I’m sorry.” 

She doesn’t expect him to hear it, but he spins around barely a second after the sound escapes her throat.

“I-I’m sorry. For what I did to you.” God, seeing him like this only serves to make it worse. This Lion, this version of him that a kinder version of herself raised-she’s only known him for a moment, but even though they share not a drop of blood,she can see herself in him like a mirror **.** He has the polite, respectful posture that Jessica never had, the manners that she’d no doubt instilled in him over the course of decades. He wears the brand of custom-tailored suits Krauss adores. If she had ever described what type of son she wanted...he would probably look and act almost exactly like Lion.

Silently, she thanks that kinder version of herself, that single specific iteration of Natsuhi Ushiromiya that had loved him like her own child. 

Lion doesn’t give a verbal response, only gives a slow nod of acknowledgement. And then, he’s gone, lost somewhere in the throngs of humans, witches and demons alike.

“Ah, that was cute. Lion’s a pretty good kid.” She jumps at the noise directly behind her, only to find the pink-clad witch slurping down what looked to be her third or fourth helping of dessert, judging from the multitude of stains already on the plate. 

“I….I see.” The brightly colored dress and trinkets on the witch almost remind her of a poisonous animal, with some sort of flashing danger sign above her head, so she chooses her words-or lack thereof-carefully. This was the same Lady Lambdadelta that both directed and orchestrated the conclusion to the fifth game, after all. The same person who’d directed everybody to drag her life to ruin. 

“Ahhh, don’t feel that bad! You just did exactly what the other two million, five hundred and seventy eight thousand, something hundred and something Natsuhis in the same situation did.” Her voice pauses in the middle of the number to breathe, no doubt to emphasize the scale of her sin. A chance of one in two million was, assuming one Natsuhi every second, murdering that servant and Beatrice for over three straight weeks, not pausing to breathe or even to blink. It was a number so enormous that it almost had its own gravitational field, dragging her eyes from the witch’s face to the ground as she speaks. 

“Is the number really that low?” She asks, rhetorically, to one of the sole beings in the universe who wields her knowledge with absolute certainty. 

“Yup! You not trying to murder a baby in cold blood has a biiiit over a one in a million chance of happening. But! As I said, Lion’s a good kid. It’s kinda hard to picture the mom who raised you as anything but your mom, really.”

As Natsuhi listens, she swears she hears some almost empathetic tone to her voice, one which disappears the second she starts grumbling about Bern refusing her invitation. 

“I...I see.” It's true, she supposes. A moment later, Lambda heads over some other direction and vanishes into the crowd, leaving Natsuhi to wander around the room once more.  She tries not to focus on Lion as he occasionally catches her eye, trying to strike up conversation with the other people there. 

She hangs around the edge of the social circles, drifting until she stops for tea, taking one of the cups and filling her cup (nobody is around to pour it for her, she notices; everybody who normally would is having fun), raising it to her lips, and taking a sip as one of the rabbits idly wanders over to her. It’s Chiester...four hundred something-the numbers could be hard to remember at times. She was the one with blue hair, and as she pours herself tea, she tilts her head a little, one of her ears almost comically flopping over a little more than usual.

“Nyeh. Strange, didn't expect it to be like this.”

“...Strange?”

“Nyeh, drinking tea’s done a bit differently for voyagers and the like,” she declares, idly tapping her nail against her teacup. “For example, they’re a lot smarter when drinking tea! Normally, you have to wait until it cools, but there’s a way that the highest classes of witches convey their thanks to guests. But if you pour it all out on in a saucer, the heat leaves the drink much quicker, nyeh.”

“I...I see. So that’s how it’s done in the world of witches...” It’s a….strange proposition, saying the least, but it’s certainly no less outrageous than, say, the Chiesters’ uniforms. Her eyes dart from the rabbit to the saucer filled with tea on the table, before slowly pouring the piping-hot darjeeling in her cup into its own saucer. It’s exactly as the woman had said: the steam quickly rises from the shallow dish all at once, cooling itself off in a matter of seconds compared to the cup. 

“But, in order to drink it like that...” Lifting up the saucer required a perfect precision, lest the drink spill onto her dress, a precision she doubted the witches she had met thus far had attained. Leaving only one remaining option, as she knelt down to table level, face centimeters from the tea. Surely that couldn’t be what the Chiester was referring to…?

“You got it, nyeh! Put your palms on the table and slurp it up like a dog!” 410 claps enthusiastically, grinning ear to ear. 

“So...like this?” Slowly, she leans in, but...

“Wh-what the hell are you talking about!?! Nobody does that! And Natsuhi, what are you thinking, getting tricked like that at your age!?!” Sharply, like a knife, one of the stakes-Satan, if her memory serves-shouts from nearby, crossing her arms as she hovers just above the carpet. She freezes at the jab-was Chiester really lying to her about that?-but thankfully one of the older witches is there to defuse the situation. 

“Satan! Don’t be rude!” Virgilia scolds, eyes opening for just a fraction of a second-enough to unsettle the stake to tears.

But what catches her eye is the Chiester a split second after she lets out an earsplitting yelp, darting out of range of...Lion, his hands hovering suspiciously close to the rabbit’s rear.

Her grabbing her butt and screaming about animal abuse, getting the inquisitors, and harassment on duty only serves to strengthen her hypothesis. 

“Chiester 410, please refrain from giving my pure and trusting mother such crazy ideas,” he sighs, slowly crossing his arms and giving the rabbit a glare.

_ Pure and trusting _ . Somehow, Lion’s words repeat themselves over and over again in her head, twisting and turning over on themselves. Was it some small sign of forgiveness? A slip of the tongue?  As the words tangle themselves around her brain, she manages to lock eyes with him, just for a second. There’s no trace of insincerity in his expression, only an overwhelming calmness, just like the ocean. She’s not entirely sure she deserves that forgiveness, but she curtsies nonetheless. 

“I-thank you.”

It’s a short, halting sentence, but somehow-

 

somehow, she feels that cross is lifted, even if only a little.


End file.
